Page 35 of Malice and Surrender
“Um…I…I didn’t know her friend was underage.” Steve pointed to the man on the floor. “He said she was legal when I started fucking her,” he blurted out, and Mannix’s nose flared, his steely eyes turning hard as stone.
He leaned down closer to Steve, who wisely took a step back. “I didn’t even know that part. She was too embarrassed to tell us exactly what happened, but thank you for the confirmation.” Mannix was quick with his long knife. He stabbed Steve three times before the guy even registered that something was wrong.
In prison, you learned to work fast and kill faster. There was no hanging around or making it fun and drawn out like this. You killed your target, and you moved on.
Steve stumbled back and stared down at the red seeping into the front of his crisp white dress shirt. I would’ve killed these fuckers simply for what they did for a living. Fucking rich assholes always thought they could get away with anything. It was highly possible that if I’d been born into a wealthy family or had a rich lawyer, I wouldn’t have ended up behind bars wasting the ten best years of my life.
I watched Steve fall to his knees, then sighed and looked at Mannix. “You just fucking killed my fun.”
“You still have one. Besides, we don’t have time for you to kill two,” Mannix said, his voice calm. “You tend to dally.” He wandered over to Steve, who was sadly still breathing, his mouth gaping open in shock.
“Dally? Like, as in dilly dally? What the fuck? Are you suddenly eighty?” Roach snorted as Mannix glared.
Mannix kicked out, and his massive shitkicker found the underside of Steve’s chin. The sheer power sent him flying but also knocked him out cold. Now the asshole would die peacefully on top of it being quick.
“There, now you can focus on the one.” He flicked his fingers at me like he was shooing a child. “Go on, get going. Take out whatever the fuck this is that’s crawled up your ass on someone other than us, you ornery bastard.”
“Fine, but for the record, you’re no fun.”
Putting my knife away, I bent down and lifted Kitten’s father, who had tried to inch his way to freedom. With a heave, I tossed the pencil neck over my shoulder and marched out the back door. One nice thing about rich people, they liked space. I guess that was one thing we did have in common. I tossed the guy down on the beach. He made an oomph sound as he hit the sand. Taking a moment to arrange him so that he was facing the water, I yanked up hard on his arms tied behind his back, and the muffled scream was like a sweet lullaby as his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop.
Tears welled up in the man’s eyes as I looped the rope holding his bound wrists over the fence post, and he hung there looking like a pathetic scarecrow. I worked quickly, cutting off the dress shirt, pants, and boxers. Taking a step back, I had to wonder what made someone hurt their own kid. He looked like a typical middle-aged dude.
There was nothing nefarious about him. There was no sign hanging around his neck that said, ‘I like to rape little girls.’ Had I looked like the type who would? Was that why they locked me up and tossed away the key? Was it because I’d been in and out of homes in the foster care system until I landed at the Collins’ with Raine? Was it because I’d gotten into fights at school, was born into an MC family, had tattoos by the time I was seventeen, or had a father already in prison? Was it just expected I’d be the same? The joke was on them, because I wasn’t until they locked me up.
Was that what they’d seen in me over this plain, nondescript guy? I couldn’t help wondering what would’ve happened if it had been this douche with his crisp white shirt and polished shoes.
Didn’t matter now. My justice would be so much worse than anything that ever would’ve happened on the inside. Yeah, he may have been laid over a table or two, but other than that, he would’ve survived. They liked to keep weak asswipes like this around so that they could have some easy fun or pawn off chores.
“Pwease, pwease don’ ‘ill me,” he mumbled through the tape.
“And why exactly shouldn’t I kill you?”
He mumbled apologies. From the little I’d been heard inside, this guy assaulted his own daughter, and they said I was an asshole. Kitten was Kickstand’s house mouse. His family had taken her in a bit ago, but it was only recently that she’d confessed to them what had happened to her. We took hurting our members seriously, and that included everyone.
I gripped his chin in my hand. “Don’t worry. The devil looks after his own. I’m sure you’ll have a perfectly toasty seat to perch upon in hell.” I smirked, the humor never reaching my eyes, as I stepped back and thought about what cut I wanted to make first.
The screaming began as the first cut was made. I glared into his eyes as I slowly sawed back and forth through the flaccid cock hanging between his legs, then held up my prize like I’d caught the biggest fish of the day.
“You weren’t packing very much, were you? How did Kitten even feel this little thing?” I stretched it out like I was playing the accordion in front of the man to see.
I knew he vomited in his mouth, but it had nowhere to go, and I watched his face go green as he tried to swallow it back down.
“I hope you didn’t eat too much,” I said. “Would be a shame if you had a lot of seafood. Lobster and scallops coming back up would be nasty with its half-digested stench that fills your mouth and nose like it was already rotting.” I already knew they’d been dining on a fancy lobster dinner by the remnants left in the kitchen.
Right on cue, he puked again, and I stepped back as bile was forced out his nose.
“This seems like a fascinating way to drown,” I said, and laid the cock down on a rock so that I could continue my work.
By the time I was done, I was thoroughly impressed with what I’d accomplished in a short period of time. Mannix and Roach were walking along the path to where I displayed my pièce de résistance.
“What the fuck, man? I swear you get more sadistic with every passing day,” Roach said as he screwed up his face at my work. “And I’m very fucking happy you like me.”
“You just have no appreciation for a dramatic flare,” I countered.
“That is certainly dramatic,” Mannix drawled, his eyebrow cocking in my direction.
I looked back down at the man I’d decapitated, gutted, and set his head between his legs with a cock sticking out like his tongue.
